Vindr
by Thalius
Summary: Fimbulwinter proves to be dangerous for a great many reasons. Small oneshot set after the new God of War. Contains spoilers.


He wasn't sure if it was the cold air on his face or the insistent pressure in his lower belly that woke him up, but both were there to greet him when he opened his eyes into the darkness of the cabin. Atreus felt for the furs and found that they'd slipped from his face, and his fingers ventured out to pull them back up.

Brutal, frigid air immediately cut across his knuckles—a warning to keep in his bed. He remembered Brok's sage advice to never piss in the middle of a Fimbulwinter night lest he freeze his own cock off, and decided that if his hand and face were any indication, the dwarf had not been exaggerating. But he also could not piss the bed, so he had a decision to make. He sighed and saw the air puff out in thick, warm steam in front of him. Warmth he wasn't going to get back. He needed to be more careful.

Atreus shifted his head, looking towards the table on the other side of the fire, which had burned down to the coals now. "Mimir," he whispered, suppressing a cough at the unpleasant intake of freezing air clawing down his throat.

Two jewelled eyes appeared in the dark across the room. Father had insisted he be kept outside— _we do not need the head to guard our sleep—_ but Atreus had convinced him to keep Mimir in the cabin by promising to collect the deerskin the Head was now wrapped in. Killing deer was still as hurtful and difficult as it had been before, but he hadn't wanted Mimir to spend the long nights outside, freezing and alone.

Mimir had not been sleeping, though his eyes had been closed. Now they shone brightly, more bright than the coals. "Hm?"

"Gods can teleport, right?"

"Aye, some," Mimir answered. "Wanting to hop to more temperate climates, lad?"

"No. Well, yeah, but—can you teleport parts of yourself without the others? Without getting hurt, I mean?"

"Ahhh, well." Mimir paused, considering the question. "Is there a… particular trick you had in mind?"

"I have to pee."

He heard a laugh in the dark, though no puff of warm breath came from Mimir. He wondered if the inside of Mimir's head was cold. "And so you wish to transport your cock outside to do all the work for you, eh?"

"Maybe," he murmured, less sure now that he'd heard the idea aloud. "Brok said it would freeze if I peed at night."

"Wise words. But if you're quick about your business, you should be spared from the frost."

"Atreus."

He looked up, toward the bed beside him, and saw his father's eyes on him. They weren't glowing as Mimir's did, but he could still see the annoyance in them.

"Sleep, or the Head goes outside."

"I was asking advice," he said from under the furs. "On how to pee when it's so cold. Brok said that—"

"The exposed side of the house. It faces away from the winds. Be swift."

His father rolled over, his back now facing the room. The conversation was over, then. Atreus held back his sigh to keep the warmth in and slipped from the covers, shoving his hands under his armpits and hunching his shoulders. He shuffled towards the door, and opened it only enough to slip outside. It was a hundredfold colder than it had been in the cabin, with no wood or fire to keep the chill at bay. Atreus clenched his teeth as he shoved in between the ashwood fence to the side of the house, and relieved himself as fast as he could with shivering hands and screeching winds around him.

The sound of the wind was more dangerous than the chill, he thought. It was making the trees wail, and he could feel their fear. It made the wildwoods feel unsafe, more unsafe than they already were. He wished he could tell them that it was okay, and that they didn't have to be afraid because gods slept beside them, but he didn't want to lie and he knew now that there were many things to fear. He felt for their voices as he tied up his trousers, asking them to be calm, but the wind was howling and drowned him out. They cried out in answer, and he saw their branches shake and shudder in pain.

Atreus shivered and hurried back into the house, fighting the wind to close the door behind him. He wouldn't let the warmth out or the wind in. It wasn't friendly like the other winter winds had been, and it made him feel afraid. Did they need to be afraid of the wind now, too?

"Alright, little brother?" Mimir whispered from his corner of the room, looking concerned. "Keep your bits safe from the cold?"

"I think so," he replied, looking over his shoulder at the door. It rattled with the wind in an ominous knocking. Definitely different.

"Then go scoot back into bed. I can hear your bones rattlin' from here."

"Okay." He moved to his bed but stopped at the firepit, squinting at the coals. They were even more dim now than when he'd first woke, and there was almost no heat to them now. Atreus took to his knees and traced his fingers through the ash, whispering _foedda_ to the cold embers.

Warm sparks clicked against the smoldering wood and made them crackle with new flame, and he repeated the word a few more times until it was properly stoked. He would have to throw in more wood to keep it alive, but father had brought in plenty of—

"What are you doing?" Father's hand wrapped around his arm in a vice and pulled him away from the small pit, turning Atreus around to face him. His eyes were much more visible now from the light of the fire, and just as angry, too.

"Keeping us warm," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm. It usually soothed his father if he talked gently, though he found it hard to keep a light expression. "The wind outside. It wants to come in."

"Do not speak to fire, boy," his father said, looking at the flames behind him. Atreus felt it warm his back, and shivered violently. "It is wicked."

"Not more wicked than what's outside. It's making the trees cry. I can hear them."

His father looked to the door, quiet for a moment. "What do they say?"

"Not much," he replied, torn between shuffling towards the fire or towards his father, who was radiating a warmth that competed with the embers at his back, though he wasn't sure how. "They don't really talk like people. But they're afraid of the wind. Fimbulwinter brings bad things with it. Brok said so, and so did mother."

The mention of mom made his father's face soften like it always did. His father nodded. "Then go back to sleep, and do not ask fire to take charge of itself again. Use your knife and tinder instead."

"Can I sleep with you?" he asked, ignoring the command. Sometimes he thought his father said those things to just say them. "I remember doing it before, during the long nights. You and mother would curl up around me like wolves do." Atreus saw his father consider it, and added with a grin, "Mother would sing sometimes, but you don't have to if you don't want."

He thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch beneath the beard. There was a pause before his father finally nodded, saying nothing. He lied back down in the centre of the mattress—leaving enough room for Atreus to climb in. He did so, shoving under the furs and curling into his father's side, which was as warm as any hearth. He shivered again and felt his father's arm tighten around his back, a wall of heat that blocked out the chill of the cold air. Atreus pressed his cheek to his father's ribs, which rose and fell with massive, even breaths. The sound kept the wailing of the trees at bay.

"I'll tell them in the morning," he mumbled into his father's sleeping shirt. "That they're safe, and that we'll protect them."

"The trees?" His father sounded almost amused, but he wouldn't be if he'd spoken to the forest.

"Yeah. I was going to outside, but the wind was too loud."

The only answer was a grunt. Another conversation finished. He considered saying goodnight to Mimir, but decided against it as he felt his father relax back into sleep. The last thing he wanted was to annoy him into pushing Atreus back into his own bed, or worse—putting Mimir outside for good. Instead he sent a mental goodnight to the man, hoping he would hear it above the winds rattling the door and the crackle of the fire.


End file.
